


The Ghosts in the Painting

by slashyrogue



Series: Shoegazerx Art Fics [10]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ghosts, Hannibal and Mischa Want Him for Theirs, Murder, Murder Family, Will Sees Something He isn't Meant to See, secondary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15169886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashyrogue/pseuds/slashyrogue
Summary: Will sees a painting that he isn't meant to see and it changes his life forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoegazerx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoegazerx/gifts).



> Based on this art here: 
> 
> http://slashyrogue.tumblr.com/post/163147855870/shoegazerx-lecter-dvaras-theres-an-old-picture

The painting was covered and lying in the corner of the shop when Will saw it. He had a sudden urge to know what lied beneath.

He touched the cloth and was stopped from removing it by someone he hadn’t heard even walk up to him.

“That’s not for sale.”

Will frowned. “I just wanted to look.”

The man’s hand tightened on his own.

“It’s not for looking either.”

He glared and wrenched his hand away.

“Fine.”

The man fixed the cloth and his hand was noticeably shaking. Will waited for him to move away and hurried to pull the cloth in one smooth motion.

“NO!”

The painting was of a man and a young girl, both stone faced and quite possibly the most beautiful people he’d ever seen.

“Oh.”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE?”

Will had to force himself to look away and saw the man had gone pale, his eyes wide as he shook his head.

“I didn’t damage any–”

The man grabbed his shirt front and yanked him in close, the scruff of his beard grazed Will’s chin.

“They’ll come for you now,” his voice was hoarse as his eyes filled with tears, “They always come when they’re seen.”

Will pushed him away and looked at the painting again. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you didn’t want anyone to look at it, you should have kept the painting someplace else.”

The man laughed, hand over his mouth as he shook his head. “It’s been locked up for years, it wasn’t even here! I think,” he averted his eyes when he lifted the painting, “They came for you.”

Will shook his head. “No, I can’t afford–”

The man thrust it at him. “They want you, man. Just like they wanted my Clarice. But she wasn’t worthy. I hope you are.”

Will took the painting out to his car and set it down carefully, looked long and hard at those faces again.

“Lecter Dvaras.”

He noticed the their two faces seemed different now, but perhaps the lighting had been bad in the store.

The glum faces he remembered now appeared much happier.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Will was tired. 

His days had started blending into nights till he was unsure as to how long had passed. 

The painting he’d put in the living room above the mantle, painstakingly making sure it was perfectly straight till his hands ached. The two of them seemed to stare at him every time he walked by every day, and their unrelenting gaze mesmerized Will at times till he couldn’t look away. 

Nights had started to be his only saving grace, his sleep so deep he hardly remembered falling. His dreams were a dusty haze of the past, an imagined life of the painting’s two inhabitants that seemed just as lonely as his own. 

They fed him elaborate breakfasts, lunches, and dinners depending on what struck their fancy. They smiled, pampered and entertained him but never spoke. 

The older one, her brother he guessed, would stare at Will with a hunger that made him ache right to his core. 

“Who are you?”

There was no answer given. 

Will’s lethargy made it difficult to function, missing classes and phone calls from Jack till he was in danger of losing both jobs. 

“What’s going on, Will? This isn’t like you,” Alana said over tea, “Jack’s worried, I’m worried, heck even the school is calling me thinking it’s psychosomatic.”

He sipped his tea and tried not to make a face at the taste. Memories of perfect sweetness and warm crimson stares bled through his tired mind. “From what? Nothing’s happened that would make me any less stable.”

Alana frowned. “Will, I’m talking about the Wound Man Murder. You know? Freddie Lounds dying was...”

Will blinked. “Freddie Lounds?”

She put her hand on his and he smelled her perfume. “Will it only happened last week. I mean, you’re the one who found her.”

He stood up so fast the teacup fell off the table then shattered. The room started to spin and Will felt like someone was watching him even though the painting wasn’t here. 

This was Alana’s house. 

“I have to—“

“Will, wait!”

Will drove home hardly coherent, muttering to himself the whole way as memories tried to sneak out between his dreams. He remembered with sudden clarity the fear in Freddie’s eyes and could almost smell the blood in the air. 

He hardly closed the door when he parked and rushed into his living room to stare at the painting again. 

The painting’s inhabitants stared right back now but there was a noticeable difference in their gaze. 

They were smiling. 

He wondered how long they’d been smiling. Was it the whole time? No he didn’t think so. Will walked up and touched the canvas, rough under his fingers. 

This time he asked a new question. 

“Who am I?”

There was no answer given. 

Tears clouded his vision as he struggled to make it to bed, eyes hardly open as he fell face first to the pillows. When he opened them there they were again.

“What are you doing to me?” 

The brother took Will’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Giving you the secular joy of your becoming. Basking in the beauty of your creation.”

Will sighed. “But—“

The sister kissed his cheek. 

“We’re your family now, Will. Don’t you want to stay?”

Will smiled. “Yes, sister. I do.”

“The Lecter family hasn’t had any new blood in centuries, Will. You’ve brought us such joy again and all we need is one more thing to make it right.”

He looked at Hannibal, yes that was his name Will knew it now almost like breathing, and squeezed his hand. 

“Anything.”

“We need you.”

Will felt warm all over and leaned in till Hannibal’s breath tickled his lips. “You have me.”

Their kiss felt like coming home, his breath gone just from the short press of lips, and when they pulled apart he looked down at his clothes with distaste. 

“Blue, love? Is that not horribly out of style?”

Hannibal touched his cheek and smiled. 

“We do not follow the trends, beloved. The trends follow us.”

Will laughed and took a bite of sausage. 

“It tastes frightened.”

Hannibal smiled. “Yes, she was.”

When Alana made it to his house and found the car door open she froze. Will had to be okay, he just had to. She went to the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. The minute she stepped inside the dogs greeted her excitedly. 

“Will?”

She walked into the living room and saw nothing, fear mounting till she could hardly breathe. 

Then she turned and cried out in horror. 

There was a painting above Will’s fireplace that she’d seen only once before depicting what looked like a rich brother and sister in pose with similar smiles. They’d scared her but Will seemed unfazed. 

It was different now. 

One difference? They were covered in blood. 

Another? They weren’t alone. 

She’d never seen Will look so happy or so frightening.


End file.
